Her Father's Daughter
by Lady of the Dragon
Summary: A little vignette about what I imagine might have been going through Elizabeth's mind on the eve of her wedding.


**Her Father's Daughter**

Elizabeth couldn't sleep. As she made her way through the familiar rooms of her childhood home, she couldn't help the slight tightening in her stomach, that usual apprehension that precedes any sort of major change. She knew, rationally, that there was nothing to fear – she was marrying one of the best men of her acquaintance. Someone who loved her quite beyond measure, and whom she loved in return. This uncomfortable feeling was about letting go of the past, more than fear for the future.

The door to her father's study was open, and she stepped inside, remembering the countless hours she had spent there, talking, learning, arguing. Here she had become the woman she was, and not some vapid country miss fascinated by lace, gossip and a red coat.

She had learned to read at her father's knee behind that desk, following his words as he read the London newspapers. She had sat at that chair and helped her father manage the estate, learning a proper respect for her origins, for the land that supported her, and the people that worked it in the process. And in that window seat she had wasted away hour upon hour among books, from Greek philosophers to the most ridiculous novels she had seized from her sisters' rooms.

And always, the constant presence beside her, supporting her – her father.

She was running her fingers lightly over the pieces from the chess set where she had learned to play, regretting not having taken the time for one last game that day, when she heard the voice of the first man she had ever loved coming softly from the doorway. It startled her, the sudden noise in the quiet house, but also released a knot of tension inside her she hadn't even realized she had. She had needed to talk to him, and that was why she couldn't sleep.

"Still awake, Lizzy?" Mr. Bennet asked softly.

She turned towards him, the warm light from their candles leaving deep shadows in the room, and giving a definite air of privacy to their conversation, as if they where the last people in the world. She felt her throat tighten, and couldn't find the words, so she simply shook her head.

Sensing somehow her distress, her father made his way towards her, and embraced her softly, like he had ever since she was a little girl, and had come running to him with all sorts of grievances, from an unwarranted scolding from her mother, to fights with neighborhood boys, and scrapped knees from tumbling down a tree. The simple warmth of his presence, the solid pressure of his arms around her, was absurdly comforting.

"It is natural to grieve for what you are leaving behind, my dear, but you should not let that pain mar the very real joy this day will bring you."

And as if his words had somehow given her permission, she felt her eyes fill with tears.

"I feel so ashamed, Papa, of not being completely overjoyed, not being incandescently happy. Not that I am not happy – I love William so very much, and I would never wish to be parted from him. But…"

"But this is where you grew up – this is all you know. You are the woman you are today because of this estate, this house, this room, this family, Elizabeth. But you mustn't see your marriage as somehow taking all of this away." And she knew he meant more than just the house, or even the people in it, but something much deeper, and much more personal. That brilliant spark of character that made her who she was. "You will take it with you, Lizzy, and hopefully use it to build something even better for yourself. I'd wager you and your young man should manage credibly together, and certainly better than your own parents. I'm certain the results won't be too horrible." And she heard the small smile in his voice, and raised her eyes to see the slight sheen of tears in her father's eyes.

Even today, faced with the prospect of losing his favorite daughter, his constant companion, he had found it in himself to comfort her about the future, and the gratitude she felt was great. She wasn't blind to his faults, knew she had been much privileged among the family, but her love could overlook all that, especially in a day such as this.

With a small smile, she whispered, "Thank you, Father." And they both knew she meant for much more than the comforting words of that night.

"No need to thank me, Lizzy. And I meant every word, my dear. You can only become more of what you already are, and that is wholly admirable."

He escorted her in silence to her room, both feeling the weight of the moment, but glad to have had the chance to speak one last time.

"Goodnight, child. I'll see you tomorrow in church, and I trust you will have a smile on your face then?"

"Of course, Papa," she replied with a small laugh. And was surprised to feel that the thought of meeting William tomorrow at the altar was no longer a source of distress. Maybe she was ready to let go.


End file.
